


Peeta's Hunger Games

by katnss74



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnss74/pseuds/katnss74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like many, I'm a big fan of Suzanne Collins' trilogy The Hunger Games. Many of her characters are very interesting, but the story is always seen from Katniss' point of view so we often wonder what are the others' thoughts or motives. And of course, one of my favourites is Peeta. So here, I try to explore the Hunger Games as he may have seen them. I tried to stick to Suzanne Collins' work as much as possible so the plot and even the dialogues will be the same.</p>
<p>It's my first attempt at writing a fanfiction, so please feel free to provide any kind of helpful feedback!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I wake up with a start and smells of freshly baked bread fill my nostrils. I'm not used to waking up when the sun is already well up in the sky. Then I realize today is Reaping day. The one day in the year that I'm allowed to sleep in, the one I have been dreading most for the last four years. “Two more years to go” I immediately tell myself. Then it will be over, and I will be, like Bron, my twenty-year old brother who is already up and about at this time of day, arranging the trays for the cakes and pastries which will hopefully sell well today. In fact, I can hear them now. My mother is cleaning the shop and grumbling against him, while my father is at the rear working with the ovens, emptying full trays of bread and loading new ones. I wonder if he has already finished with the cakes. They take more time to make, with the frosting and all, and since I'm not supposed to help today... I guess I should be pleased that I don't have to work, because this does not happen very often although we are five to run a small bakery. I get up still feeling sleepy, thankful for a bit of time for myself. Daydreamer, that's what my mother thinks of me, though she does everything she can so that I don't remain idle more than a couple of minutes. She's a small woman with light brown hair tied in a tight bun, and she hardly ever smiles, except when a customer comes in. If he doesn't come from the Seam, which of course limits the possibilities quite drastically, since in our District, most people live in the Seam. It is how we call the living district of our city, where miners live. Most of them are so poor, their bodies so worn out that they look like ghosts. But my mother despises them, for being dirty, for being too poor to buy more than our worst quality brown bread. She believes that we are above them, because we live in a nicer part of town and make a more decent living. But to be honest, it is mostly about looks. A fair quantity of food is produced here, but we have grown used not to care about its presence, because the price of the ingredients is so high. If we don't sell, because the rare upper-class doesn't want cakes, or if too many miners fall short of money and cannot buy our bread, we could lose the bakery.

I sigh and get up. There is still plenty of time before the Reaping, but I have no idea what to do. Of course, I can’t meet my friends. Not today. I think about them, Baldo, Ersty and Timee. What if their name gets called? What if it’s mine? I shiver. Those games are horrid. Every year, we get to watch the Capitol getting mad with excitement at the prospect of Districts’ kids killing one another to death for the pleasure of their entertainment. Us. Kids. As far as I can remember, we have been terrified at the idea that one day, our name might get called. It is a hard prospect to grow up with. Hard to make friends, when the first thing that comes to your mind is that one day, this strong child may have to kill twenty three other to survive, including another one of our District. Boys and girls. No special treatment is given to girls, which I think is unfair because most of them lack the physical strength. Though in our District, very few boys actually get enough food to grow into strong men. Back at school, I hang around with a group of friends – not from the Seam mind you, because my mother wouldn’t allow it – and we sometimes discuss how we could do it. Survive the Games. Some say we should train, like the ‘Careers’– the kids from the richest Districts who win almost every time. Most of the time, I don’t want to give into this kind of conversation. It is dangerous enough to talk about the Capitol, so our parents have raised us into avoiding that subject. And I don’t believe that any of us could win anyway. I did pay a little more attention to the last Games, when two kids from the Seam were reaped. Rils I knew a little because he was a year younger than me and I had to intervene at school to prevent a rumble between his gang and some of my friends. The girl was even younger. They got killed almost minutes after the Games started. The girl couldn’t run fast enough from the bloodbath, and Rils tried to grab a knife from the Cornucopia, but he was beaten to death by three other boys. Trying to discard the memories of his agony, I start pacing in the room, but it’s no good. I see the clothes my mother has prepared for the special occasion, but don’t want to put them on just yet. I grab my pants from the floor and an old T-shirt smelling from flour. I decide to go down and help my dad anyway, but make sure to avoid seeing my mother and Bron. My father is shaping dough into rolls when I enter the room. He looks up at me and I see a flicker of pain run through his eyes.

Then he looks down at his work again and says “No need for you to be here today”. He pauses. “You should eat something. I bought a squirrel from the Seam boy, you know, the hunter, and I baked meat rolls especially for you and Cal”.

Wow, I think when I look at the neat pile of fresh rolls he waved his hand at. This is real feast. I mean, we usually get to eat a bit of meat every week, but we have to share it between us five, and a squirrel isn’t exactly big, but one only for my brother and I? The smell is tantalizing, and I squash a full roll in my mouth, letting the juice roll down my throat. My father mixed the meat with herbs, rosemary and thyme I think. And mushrooms. Trying to figure out the recipe, I take my time to chew one more roll and swallow. “Do you need any help with the cakes?” I ask.

“Don’t you want to rest?” he asks and quickly glances at me before starting to arrange the rolls on a tray.

“What for?” I shrug. “I’d rather keep busy and besides, who’s going to do the icing?”

“Well I can’t say I don’t need help, but…”

“Roil?” yells my mother from the shop. “I sent Bron deliver bread to the mayor and I need more brown bread! And cheese and basil buns!”

The door’s bell rings and she immediately changes the tone of her voice and starts talking to a customer.

“Better give her what she wants now” my father says and he starts taking two trays of buns towards the door. “The cakes are by the window if it helps you relax. But don’t worry. The hunter, he’s got his name in so many times compared to you…” He rattles his throat and leaves.

I go to the small storeroom opposite the door he took. This is where we keep the ingredients which cannot stand the heat and where I usually work when I’m not at school. Since I was younger than my brothers, my first task at the bakery was the errands, but my mother thought I was too slow and distracted. Then my father taught me how to decorate cakes, and I loved it. So Cal took my place and Bron and my father worked with the ovens, while I spent all afternoons crafting sugar flowers and cream curls. At first, my mother yelled that I was useless and complained for Bron and Cal who had to do all the work. I still had to help carry the flour bags from the District Granary before going to school every morning. But the customers started commenting on my work and buying more cakes, and my mother left me alone. I love sitting at my table by the window, all alone in the storeroom. I have patiently managed to get my parents buy more ingredients: food coloring agents of various shades, bright sugar balls, snowy icing sugar and soft translucent jelly… Of course, this is nothing to the crazy ingredients they seem to have in the Capitol, but then we don’t have so many buyers for those, apart from the Mayor and the Head Peacekeeper and official ceremonies. While I settle everything I need on the table, I take a glance by the window. Across the courtyard, past the other few merchant houses, I can see trees in the distance. The sky is soft blue, without all the smoke that usually comes out of the mines. Nobody is supposed to work today, because it is Reaping Day. The big show is about to begin, and the Capitol wants to make sure that no one misses it. I wonder what it must be like in the other districts. Did they get up in fear this morning, dreading for their children? Why do we stand this? A soft wind blows through the trees and groups of birds fly high in the sky. At least, they are free. We are not. We cannot run from the District. An electric fence surrounds us, and they say wild animals would attack us otherwise. The only way out of the District is the railway, controlled by the Capitol. I feel a lump in my throat, not only for what may happen to me in a few hours, but also for the people of my District who share this hopeless fate. So I turn my eyes to my cakes, and start decorating them with all the beauty I can to forget about all this.

A few hours pass without my knowing, which is probably much better. Then while I’m putting away the half dozen of cakes I have finished, I catch a glimpse of movements by the hedge across the courtyard. Kids. I quickly sneak out of the storeroom and walk towards them.

“Hey” I say “I saw you. Get out of there”. One by one, five heads appear. They are boys and a girl from the Seam, 7th grade I think. First reaping, most likely. Wide eyes in hollow faces, wearing little more than rags.

“What do you think you are doing? You shouldn’t be here. You know what will happen if they find out you are missing.” I try to reason them.

One of them snaps back “Oh yeah? Because you’re going to give us, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid, why would I do that? Won’t save me from the Reaping, and you know it. But you can't walk out of it. Besides, where would you go?"

The girl hisses "We can't stay. Our names would be called. You don't know what it's like, you've never signed up for tesserae. My name's in twelve times, and his" she points one of the boys on her left "sixteen. We had to do it because we'd have starved to death. But we don't want to die." Her voice has taken a high pitch and she's slightly shaking.

So I do what I do best, reassure her, tell her about the number of children of age in the District, about two hundred, and the additional number of times most of them are in for tesserae, this wicked vision of a gift of grain and oil from the Capitol in exchange for an extra chance that your name may be picked. How unlikely it is that she, even with her name being in twelve times, may be called. How there is no way she could live outside the District, the wild beasts in the woods and the certainty of death there, without the help of the community. Of course, I'm slightly exaggerating. There can't be much solidarity between us. Too many of us lack the basic means of living. And the town people like my family do not particularly stand out for the Seam ones. Still, some of us try. I probably take it from my father, who I know has more than often forgotten to count the change properly when a single mother came in looking desperate with a couple of kids hanging to her gown. After a while, I get them to relax slightly and I even crack a few jokes of my own. It works, and to my relief, they promise to meet me up in the square.

I go back inside. How ironic I could manage to tell them to walk to a probably certain death, when I would so much like to run and hide myself. But I can't show it, so when I stumble into my mother, I keep a straight face and let her yell at me about the time and why I haven't washed and dressed myself properly already.

At noon, Cal and I are fully prepped with a fine cotton shirt, dark pants and shiny belt buckle. It feels awkward, why we need to dress up for the Reaping. But it's part of the show and absurd as it may be, we still seem to want to make an impression for the occasion. My mother insists on our good behavior, because anything we do wrong could reflect badly on the bakery. My father coughs and grumbles that we should go, so we all head for the square. The town people usually arrive first, so my parents can take a good looking from the side of the perimeter, next to the stage on which the officials will sit. My mother starts talking to the tailor's wife about this year's decorations, which could have needed a bit more work and money. The banners celebrate Panem's glory and there are some silly mottos such as 'Together and united' and glossy posters showing a fist-raised young boy against sunset with the title '74th Hunger Games'. But it is all feels a bit false. The only people showing enthusiasm are the Capitol camera crews which have invaded the rooftops, balconies and the space all around the stage. People from the District look rather grim, faces are a bit too white, many hold hands a bit too nervously. "Hush boys, and look good for the cameras" my mother tells Cal and I. My father gives us both a long and encouraging look. "See you soon boys".

We both head to the center of the square, where the Peacekeepers sort us according to age. I briefly shake hands with Cal but we are now too anxious to talk. At least, it'll be the last time for him, and his friends are already there, so I see him lift his shoulders slightly when he turns back and walks to them at the front row. We are not very close, but I still worry for him. But Baldo calls my name and I join him and Ersty and Timee. Soon, our friends from school are all there. The girls look nice in their best dress, their hair beautifully combed. Some even wear jewels, as if they were going to a ball. I see Baldo eyeing one of them, Furda I think. Seam kids arrive and quietly fill the perimeter, their parents trying to find a spot where they can get a glimpse of the scene. At two o'clock, mayor Undersee stands up from his chair, walks to the podium and starts his yearly speech on the history of Panem. I remember how I tried to question some of the facts in history class, like what happened before the destruction of North America, or why the districts started rebelling against the Capitol, if, like they said, the Capitol had done so much to rebuild the country and find new ways of living. The teacher had turned white as a sheet and explained me quickly at the end of the lesson that I should never ask this kind of questions again if I wanted to avoid troubles. I never saw him again. When I tune back to the mayor's speech, Haymitch, our only Victor, appears on the stage and literally falls on his chair, drunk as skunk. He's disgusting. He, who won the Hunger Games, who should embody hope for us, who should help us run the economy of the District with all the money he earned from his victory. But he mostly remains secluded in the Victor's Village and spends all his money in liquors from the black market. Because of him, we are the laughing stock of the Capitol. Because of him, tributes like Rils or last year's girl never stand a chance, because we never get sponsors. Mayor Undersee cannot get rid of him, so he introduces our escort, a woman called Effie Trinket, which you could only see in the Capitol. Not only is she dressed like some giant grasshopper with a strange strawberry-marshmallow wig, but her voice sounds like she's shrieking all the time. I can't listen to her nonsense so I take a look across the crowd. Being above average height, I can easily spot the kids from this morning at the back and give one of them a slight thumbs-up, but he just looks sick. Like many of us.

"Ladies first" Effie Trinket shrieks and she plunges her hand into one of the glass balls and pulls out one of the slips of paper. Then she trots back to the podium, unfolds the slip and reads out "Primrose Everdeen".


	2. Chapter 2

I feel like a ton of bricks have landed on my head. _Her_ sister. But right now, all I can think is how unfair it is. Everybody has turned round toward the back of the perimeter, where the younger are. Though the girls are – obviously – relieved, I think we all feel sorry for her. Because Primrose is only a twelve year old frail little girl in a worn out skirt, and she’s so thin she could be blown away by the wind. Families too seem unhappy with the reaping, though no one dares speak up. She is such a sweet girl, and a lot of people know her, have come to her house, where she and her mother have tended many a wounded. Though her family is very poor, she’s always been so nice to others, giving away the cheese from her goat, helping in any way she could. But now, there is nothing we can do for her. The whole place is completely locked up with Peacekeepers in full body armor and equipped with guns. We start making her way, and she quietly starts walking toward the stage. She is so different from the other girls from the Seam, with her pale skin and blond hair. She is so pale right now that she looks like a ghost, but only her eyes show her alarm. I notice how she clenches her little fists and I feel ashamed that I cannot prevent this innocent girl from walking to her death. I look down at my feet and only have time to wish that she’ll die quickly, when I hear a desperate cry: “Prim!”

And when I look up, I see _her_ rushing among us toward the stage and grasping the little girl’s arm. I feel a pang in my stomach. What is she going to do? She briskly pushes the little girl behind her and I can’t help from admiring her courage and her strength. No one but her could do such a thing. Stand up when we all accept the Capitol’s cruel rule. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" she yells, and I feel that my whole world has started spinning. It was bad enough to think that Prim was going to die, but her? Because what else could happen? In our District, there's almost never been winners. So volunteering is just not something we do. Not even for our family. Except her. She's brave enough to tell us all that we shouldn't accept to send our little ones to a slaughter. I can hear all around me boys and girls whispering, and looking up, I notice that the families too have gathered a little bit closer, as if they all of a sudden sense some sort of mutual feeling, of solidarity. It's different on the stage though, where you can see that the officials have been taken by surprise. Still, it is a television show, so they have to show that the situation is under control.

Effie Trinket, our escort from the Capitol, is struggling to fit the whole thing back into her neatly ordered agenda. "Lovely" she shrieks again. Really, how can anyone stand people talking like that? And she dwells on the protocol of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers. Hopefully, the mayor cuts her off, and tells us to ask Katniss to come forward. He's a good man, my father often says, one of the best mayors we've had in 12. It's a tough position though, because he's from our District, yet he has to enforce Capitol's law, which is basically exploiting our resources and punishing anyone who dares coming out of line. Mayor Undersee's not like that though. I mean, he does have to comply with the Capitol's coal requirements. But he has established good relations with the Head Peacekeeper, so that we all manage to tolerate each other. He's not happy about Katniss, but I wonder why, since I don't think she is particularly popular, contrary to her sister. Maybe she provides him with game too. Or maybe she and his daughter are real friends. I've often seen them having lunch together, but I never really thought there was more to it. Doesn't fit with her temper. She always seems so fierce, the way she is right now, pushing her sister away despite the way that she is clutching so hard to her and screaming "No! Katniss! You can't go!" Even her sister cannot shift her resolution.

Suddenly, the hunter my father was talking about earlier makes his way through the crowd, comes to her rescue and grasps Prim. I know he’s called Gale and he’s two years older than me, same as my brother Cal. He’s a very tall, strong young man and I’ve often heard girls talk about him at school. He and Katniss hunt together and they often share their takes. I can't hear what he tells her, but he takes her sister to her mother, and Katniss climbs the stairs to the stage where Effie Trinket welcomes her enthusiastically. She asks her to introduce herself and makes a silly comment about Prim, as if anybody could doubt her motives for volunteering. Why else would she have done that? We are not in a Career District, and Katniss with all her strength will be no match to them. So when this grotesque grasshopper asks for a big round of applause, we all stay still while Katniss stands very straight in front of the cameras. I try to assess her coldly, the way people in the Capitol are probably seeing her now. She does look a lot healthier than many a girl from the Seam. Her skin is tanned, her hair very dark and her eyes has the same grey color, but she moves with the ease of a cat, and she's slim. Still, she's not very big for her age, and I don't think she would stand a chance in close combat.

My heart is sinking, so I don't see it coming. All of a sudden, everybody in the crowd starts raising their left arm after kissing the three middle fingers and holding them in Katniss' direction. I've never seen the people of District 12 so united. In the corner of my eyes, I check that even my mother and Bron are doing the old salute, paying homage to her courage, saying goodbye to her. I'm amazed. But then our only Victor stumbles across to Katniss, and I feel disgusted when he puts his filthy arm across her shoulders. "Look at this one! I like her!" he hollers. "Lots of... spunk!" he spits, slightly staggering, and he releases her to take a few unsteady steps in our direction. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing at one of the cameras.

I wonder what he means. Was he addressing us? Behind this thick and filthy outlook, could Haymitch actually share something with us? I try to remember that he too was picked, though it was long ago. My father told me once about it, but I can't recall everything he said. I think he was quite young, and there was something about the context. Haymitch doesn't have the time to elaborate on his thoughts though, because when he opens his mouth again, he falls over the stage to the feet of the Peacekeepers circling us and he passes out. All the cameras zoom on him and some of us laugh nervously. Katniss looks unmoved, like some sort of goddess statue. The stage is in mayhem, with the mayor giving orders for Haymitch to be taken away, and the Head Peacekeeper looking nervously at the crowd for any sign of unrest. But I guess many are too tired even for this. And besides, it is far from the first time that Haymitch makes such a show of himself. Effie Trinket clearly decides that she will not let him ruin her moment, and she displays even more enthusiasm in announcing "What an exciting day! But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" And she trots to the other glass ball holding her wig in a bizarre way. But before I have time to articulate any wish for me or my brother, she is back in front of the stage reading aloud "Peeta Mellark".

President Snow's cold voice comes back in my head "May the odds be ever in your favor!" Four slips had my name on it, one per year since I was 12, and she had to pick one of those out of thousands. My whole world starts spinning, but I feel some hands touch me. Ersty whispers "Oh Peeta! I'm sorry man!" and Timee shakes his head painfully. I look up and I see all the cameras trained on me. On the stage, Katniss still stands very still, but she's looking at me too. I think about her courage, about my father who must be devastated, about the younger kids I spoke to earlier. I clench my jaw and lift my shoulders back and start walking toward the podium. The other kids let me come forward, some quickly touching me as a sort of goodbye I guess. I try to block the awful visions of the past arenas, bloodbaths and horrible deaths which come dangling across my eyes. I'm going to die. I force myself to climb the stairs without hesitating and to place myself on Effie Trinket's side. On closer look, she's actually quite small despite her high-heel shoes. She welcomes me and asks for any volunteer to take my place. Standard procedure. I try forgetting that no one is willing to help me, but it's no use. I've always been amazed that in other districts, some kids are actually eager to become tributes. They are proud to represent their district, which supports them enthusiastically. Not in 12. Here, everybody's looking down and slightly ashamed. The time of the salute is over and we are back to reality. Once more, two kids from 12 are being sent to death and there is nothing to be done. But Mayor Undersee cannot let this message be sent to all of Panem, so he briskly rises from his chair and comes forward to read the Treaty of Treason. I cannot listen to it though. Visions of the past Hunger Games flash in my head. The underfed 12-year old girl crawling on the ground for mercy pierced by a golden spear. The vicious look on the 17-year old brute who then raised the lethal weapon for the cameras to see. The 16-year old girl who once looked so beautiful, choking on her own blood after another girl slit her throat in her sleep. And this big boy, set into a trap crushed by a pile of sharp rocks. I try telling myself that I'm stronger than those. But what about the agonies of the ones not clever enough to find food or water, crouching under rocks, bushes, but not deep enough to avoid the cameras lingering on to catch their last grimace. I doubt I could bake my own bread in there... And the arenas! So unpredictable from year to year, so different from home, with strange plants and animals, monsters and deadly traps. Deserts or high mountains, caves or weird high tech buildings, even psychedelic theme park. How could I ever survive in this? How could I kill 23 other kids? I'm starting to wish one of the Peacekeepers would take me down here and now, when Mayor Undersee finishes his reading. He turns to us, and keeps his face straight but his look is sad. He cannot say anything of course, and suddenly the visions stop and I pity him for having to do this. But he wants something from us. That Katniss and I shake hands. I guess that is his attempt of building some sort of bond between us, and with the District. If only he knew, I almost smile. Because the odds are definitely weird, to pick me for a certain death but at the same time to give me the opportunity to get closer to Katniss, when I got used to thinking this would never happen. Well, this definitely makes things look brighter! So I turn to her, and for the first time, I reach toward her and shake her hand. Small, soft but with a firm clasp. My eyes lock in the gray mist of hers, like a incoming storm. Her gaze is sharp, as if I were one of her preys. I tell myself it's probably for the cameras - in which case I have to say it's quite clever - and I intend on being friendly, but since I'm not quite sure she wouldn't kill me on the spot if I dared anything more, I only give her hand a little squeeze. Well, she may be small but I'd bet my hat she'll outlive me. If she's not the one ending me. Because let's face it, the feelings I have for her are far from mutual.


	3. Chapter 3

I don't have time to dwell on how to act with Katniss. Immediately after we shake hands, the national anthem almost blasts our ears. Slow, pompous instrumental music which we are supposed to listen to with our heads up and right hand to our chest. It doesn't work in 12 though, and TV commentators have got used to explaining it by the fact that we are a bit backward. Easier to say than to show how people starve in here, how hard they have to work. This, they would never show on television. The only images of the economic activity of the District always look like they have been fabricated, and we never recognize any of the brave and healthy workers they show, but how could people from other districts tell the difference? It's probably the same there, whether they produce luxury items or electronics... Every district has its own specialization, but most people are strictly forbidden to travel out of their district. We are all kept in ignorance, like cattle, with only silly television programs from the Capitol to distract us. So I like the way the crowd stands still and refuses to give into this nonsense. At least we have our dignity. This would almost comfort me, but when the music stops, four Peacekeepers come to the stage and close on us, cutting us from the crowd. We are trapped. They escort us to the Justice Building.

I have already been in there a couple of times to deliver cakes and other delicacies for public events. I think it is very telling about the sharp contrast between the Capitol and the District's ways of living. From the outside, it looks really massive, but only has few decorations, a statue representing an allegory of a man rising towards the sky and Panem's winged insignia. Kind of well-chosen if you think that the Capitol is ever-watching us from the air with their hovercrafts. Other than that, I don't see many occasions for rising or watching the sky. But inside the building, it's completely different and you get a - probably very small - taste of the Capitol's luxury. In District 12, electricity supply is rarely steady, apart from the period of the Games, so my father decided a long time ago to go for coal ovens for the bakery. It is convenient since coal is the major production of the District, though the Capitol's requirements are so high that it is still quite expensive. But the Justice Building must operate differently, because everything inside is shining with light. The furniture is also very unusual for us, with huge tapestries, paintings, and even a small range of art decorations. And the rooms are huge, with high molded ceilings and expensive floorboards. Today, the hall is buzzing with camera crews and their equipment, but the Peacekeepers do not let them come near us yet. They take us to the small rooms at the back, where we get a bit of privacy to say goodbye to our loved ones before leaving. So I sit on the coach of the room allotted to me, making sure to stay away from the windows and vaguely trying to overhear what is happening in the corridor. I can't hear anything from Katniss, who is just across the door in the opposite sitting room. Will she get many visitors? A moment later, my family comes in: my mother first, followed by Bron and Cal slightly behind, and finally my dad with slower and heavier footsteps than usual. My mother waits for the door to close and begins:

"I still cannot believe how they let this happen! I mean, town people shouldn't mix with this sad lot! And of course, you can bet that they are happy now, that their boys haven't been picked!"

"Ma..." I try to keep calm, "Ma, there is nothing to be done here. We are all in this together you know."

"No, it's not the same! It's THEIR fault we have to live in such conditions! Their lot is just scum, they're lazy and uncooperative! We are educated, we work with the Capitol, we should have a better treatment!"

I don't know where she gets this kind of ideas. How can she say that we work for the Capitol? We only bake bread! Just because we supply cakes for official ceremonies doesn't make us belong with them! There is no point interrupting her though, so I let her babble for a bit, until she comes back to me.

"Hopefully, we might finally have a winner this time! A victor would bring more money to the District! More customers, official visits... That Haymitch is so lame! This little savage may stand a chance! But you, my poor boy!" All of a sudden, I see tears coming in her eyes. I can't help raising my eyebrows but she snaps back.

"I'm not even sure you can make it to the final eight and get us the interviews!" Right, I didn't see that coming. "If only you'd been more... more..."

"More what, mother?" I answer very slowly with a cold voice.

"Stop answering to me like that! This is exactly what I mean! See, you play the wit, but you don't have the guts! I'm sure Cal would have done much better than you will!"

"And I'm sure you would have been delighted if Cal had been picked instead of me!" I can't stop the words from my mouth. Bron and Cal seem a bit embarrassed now and bump into another while shifting their weight from one foot to another.

"Of course not, you idiot! We need him to run the bakery!"

I clench my fists nervously and I can feel the blood running high in my temples now. But before I can say anything, my father steps in and says:

"We need all of our boys, don't we darling? And you've been very helpful Peeta..."

"Yes yes yes, but who is going to do the icings? We have a reputation, orders waiting! Do you realize what is going to happen to us now?"

I can't stand this any longer, so I walk to the window - fortunately, there are light curtains blocking intruders from watching inside - and try to make out the view. My father is trying to calm my mother down, though I can't hear what he's telling her. A few minutes later, she says:

"OK, boy, we are going to leave you so come to say goodbye to your mother" A shiver runs through my spine. I'm still mad at her, but I feel my father grasp my wrist so I turn back to him.

"Say goodbye to your mother, son." And very quietly so no one else but I can hear it "You'll regret it otherwise." So I look into his blue eyes, as blue as mine, his face so similar to mine, only older and graver, and I do as he says. But as I kiss her on the cheek, she can't help one last advice:

"And remember to behave! You want to make a good impression for us, no matter what!" On this last note, as if she were very satisfied with herself, she turns heels and heads to the door. My two brothers step awkwardly towards me and shake hands with me in turn. Bron doesn't say anything but Cal whispers "I'm sorry bro..." and then they follow her in the corridor where I can already hear her chitchat lightly with the Peacekeepers. My father goes to the door too, but only to close it back.

"Listen boy, don't pay too much attention to what she said. She was upset and she didn't know how to react. She's not that bad." I look up to meet his eyes and he shakes his head, unconvinced.

"There isn't much time left, and there is something I need to do, but before I go, I want to tell you this: you may not be the strongest, but you're clever. Even your mother recognizes it. And the Games are not necessarily about strength. When Haymitch won, both tributes from our District made it pretty far by allying together. Think about it." I've never seen him so talkative, but no words come out my mouth, because my throat is still swollen with the anger caused by my mother. So he pulls me in his arms and holds me close for a while, and then he turns quickly to the door and leaves. But I saw the tears in his eyes, and as I stare at the door, I feel tears in mine too. Rage against her, angry words that I couldn't say to silence her, frustration towards my brothers who couldn't even stand for me against her and who I couldn't even forgive for it, but most of all sorrow for my father.

I know nobody else is going to come. None of my friends will. Every year, it's the same story. For the last four years, whenever someone I knew got picked, I tried to motivate a group of friends to go and see him or her. "What for?" would they always answer, and they'd walk away shamefully to their house. It's not that people rejoice when their children escape the reaping. For most of them, it's only a year's respite. And the kids know it too. But they feel helpless towards the tributes, as if they were already dead the moment they left the stage. In the evening of the Reaping, most families order more food and enjoy a bigger meal while the tributes' families close their curtains and are left on their own. Nobody celebrates, it is still mandatory to watch the whole Games and it is still painful to see the District tributes die. When it happens, and the Capitol brings the bodies back to their families, the mayor usually performs a little ceremony and the families can finally get some comfort from the community. But not until then.

So I silently say goodbye to my friends and I let the tears run along my face and cool my heating cheeks. It takes a while before I can feel my muscles relax. By that time, my father's words have come back in my mind. I'm clever. It's not all about strength. Making ally. Right. I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet, but it gives me back some hope somehow. In a minute, Peacekeepers will be here to take me to the station and the cameras will get to scrutinize every single detail about us. I can hear them coming. Usually, our tributes look like wild animals taken to the slaughter. I'm about to wipe the tears from my face, thinking how I'm supposed to make a good impression, when I remember the comments that were made last year about a boy from an outline district who appeared to look very dignified. A lot of bets were placed on him because he was suspected to have some secret skills and the Careers rushed on him as soon as the Games started. Stand low, I tell myself.

So when I am taken outside the Justice Building to the car that will drive us to the train station, I lower my head and hunch slightly as to look smaller. Good think we don't get to walk, because it would be harder to avoid too much attention. I also try to avoid meeting any of the reporters' eyes - so to speak, because they wear these special camera goggles which give them a strange look, like flies eyes. Still, during our short travel by car, I can sense Katniss looking at me. She seems bent on distancing herself completely from what is happening. The very strategy of this boy I was thinking of earlier. She does have secret skills though. She's an excellent hunter, maybe even better than Gale, and she obviously knows how to survive in the forest. Still, I think she should try to avoid looking proud. I could help her with that. Maybe in return, she could help me... There is no time to talk right now, because the cameras want to get every detail of the tributes which are going to be broadcast instantly all across Panem. This evening, they will assemble the best images and Caesar Flickerman, the star presenter of the Hunger Games will interview a bunch of experts about our potential. It is quite pointless in 12, but from the streets interviews they show in the next days, people in the Capitol are craving for these first moments when they can discover us and pick their favorites.

Because the Hunger Games are not only about survival. Or rather, survival is a lot easier if a tribute can win the Capitol. Aside from a seemingly complex but quite lucrative gambling business, an essential aspect of the Games is sponsoring. The government provides the arena, a Tribute Center in which tributes train and live for two weeks before the Games, the standard equipment and what can be found in the Cornucopia around which the Games always start. Weapons, but also food, clothes, tools. But they come at a very high price, because all 24 tributes want to get their hands on them, and many lose their lives in the process. But after the Games have begun, sponsors are the only exterior help available. They can send all sorts of things to the person they have chosen. But the price of those gifts depends not only of the item, but also from how far in the Games we are. Some districts can afford to send small food or equipment in the first days; only the Capitol can provide weapons or medicine throughout most of the Games. Now that I think of it, maybe my strategy of showing myself with blotched eyes wasn't so smart.

We are then taken from the car to the train platform and have to stand together in the doorway for some last shots, so I try to look better. But it only lasts a short moment and the doors finally shut and cut us from the crowd. The train immediately starts to gather speed and take us outside of town, along tracks protected from wild animals by the very same fence which surrounds the forest. I'm amazed by how fast the train travels. High-speed passengers trains rarely come to our District, the only trains we are used to see are long and slow merchandise ones, bringing supplies from the Capitol and taking away our coal. Everything is centralised in the Capitol, which supposedly dispatches according to our needs, though we rarely get full trainloads. At school, we were taught about the difficulties of managing such a big country after the fall of North America. In fact, all the districts are completely scattered across an almost empty land. Forests are huge, such as the one we are crossing now, and they cut us off from one another completely. In 12, we are on the edge of Panem, a hilly place in the far east formerly called Appalachia, whereas the rich districts and the Capitol are in the west. Apparently, the whole country was once inhabited, but there were so few people left that the most efficient way they could think of at the time was to group people in districts around strategic resources. I can't help wondering again what can have happened at the time. At school, they told us about a major climatic change and a war causing intense pollution. But who could have Panem been at war with? Are there other countries? Were they destroyed too? And what kind of pollution was there? They say that the forest is dangerous because of it, because strange animals and plants developed. It doesn't seem that dangerous for Katniss and Gale though, who go hunting almost every day. And from the windows of the train, it is actually a quite soothing view from the havoc caused by the Games.

I doubt the train attendants and Effie Trinket pay too much attention to the landscape. They only mentioned the journey would take less than a day, and insisted on the luxury made available for us, the attention put to every detail, from real wood panels to adjustable air-conditioned seats, our own catering staff and of course, huge television screens in every room. The whole train is only for us, because we head straight to the Capitol. It's also a good way to make sure the tributes do not meet until they reach the Tributes Center. In the meantime, the only information we can get is on television. Katniss and I are led to our rooms, which are huge and equipped with private bathrooms. I can see her open wide eyes at the shower with a huge control panel. She probably didn't have many opportunities to take showers, living in the Seam. In the merchants' part of town, our houses have running water, though the heating system often malfunctions, so it's not as surprising for me as for her. But I wonder what all the shiny buttons do. She's obviously intent on trying it, so I find myself alone in my room.

Effie told us that we have an hour to ourselves before dinner, but I don't feel like taking a nap so I turn the television on. If I'm going to go in the Hunger Games, I may as well start to get prepared. Because of the time difference between the East and the West of the country, some reapings haven't already taken place. Since each of them is broadcast live, it is also a good way to keep all minds busy for the day before the big sum-up show this evening. I have to sit through the end of a sappy soap opera involving blue-haired Capitol middle-age housewives in fluffy pink robe and their equally colorfully-dressed friends and husbands before an update on the reapings flashes at the bottom of the screen. As predicted, I get to watch District 5, an area close to the Capitol and specialized in producing energy. The place looks nicer than in 12, with much more modern buildings and decoration and the people seem better off but I try to focus on the tributes. The boy is probably younger than me, I’d say no more than 15, but quite narrow-shouldered. I don’t think he’ll be a threat in combat, but he could have other qualities. The girl is probably a bit older but quite skinny. I’m quite surprised at how calm they are. The crowd applauses them and they wave before going. What a contrast with us!

I am a bit frustrated with the images though. Nothing I've seen has given me an indication on how to act so far. I get out of my room and try finding someone in the lounge but it's empty. Then I hear a tinkling of glass nearby so I sneak in the bar car to see Haymitch stealing a bottle of liquor from a cupboard.

"Err, Mr Abernathy?" I try to ask politely

Haymitch starts and turns round a bit too quickly, it seems, because he loses his balance and has to catch the counter for support. "Ah!" he finally says "So you're the boy tribute. I thought that nasty bar attendant caught me red-handed. He seems to think I already had enough to drink, as if he had any say about it! What's your name again?"

"Peeta Mellark, sir. I'm one of the baker's sons." I try to play the nice card, since Haymitch had blacked out when I was reaped, but it doesn't seem to work. After all, he's not really one of our best customers - though my mother often said that he could be, with all the money he has from being a Victor.

"Right. Well, don't rat me out!" he snaps. But before I have the time to answer, he mutters "I have to go or they'll find me again. If they ask for me, tell them I've gone for a nap" and he stumbles away. Getting advice from him is going to be tricky. I'll have to try another approach next time. I'm not even sure he'll remember my name.

I find myself alone once more, so I head back to my room. I consider knocking on Katniss’ door, but I can hear the water running. I wait for dinner time watching outside the window of my bedroom – we are now travelling at top speed on a nice shiny bridge over the forest and the treeline looks like a sea of green quietly rippling below the bright sky.

Finally the hour is up and I head to the dining room. Effie Trinket welcomes me “Ah, Peeta, I appreciate punctuality.” But she then frowns “Of course, I cannot say the same for your fellow tribute…”

“She was probably enjoying the shower” I try. “You know, we don’t have the like at home and it’s probably best if we start paying attention to our looks.”

“Quite right you are!” She brightens up, as I obviously hit the right spot. “Of course, I understand that a girl should take time to get ready for dinner. I personally made sure to fill her dressing room with nice outfits. I’ll go get her.”

I can’t help smiling at the thought of Effie trying to turn Katniss into a fashion icon. She did look very nice in that blue dress, but it is probably the only time of year I’ve seen her wear a girl outfit since… Well, quite some time… So I’m not surprised when she enters the compartment in a dark green shirt and pants, though she’s kept a sort of circular golden pin she was wearing today. Effie Trinket doesn’t seem upset though, because she then brightly asks about Haymitch.

“Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap” I answer. Of course, it’s a lie, but after all, I’m only saying what Haymitch wanted me to, and it’s probably best not to mention his tendency to drink right now. After all, I would like to start talking to Katniss so it’ll be easier if I can make everybody at ease. But I have to say that I then quite forget what my intentions were when the food arrives. Even in a family like mine, we rarely get more than a main course. But here, we get a carrot soup, salad, lamb chops with mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, even a chocolate cake! My stomach painfully reminds me that I haven’t eaten much today apart from a couple of squirrel rolls. Besides, I want to taste everything, because I know that the Capitol’s gastronomy is very elaborate. They have all sorts of herbs, spices and other ingredients and can combine them into surprising flavors. The carrot soup for instance, is very creamy and slightly spicy, probably cumin, which I’ve never had. Rosemary and thyme I know, but I have to say that it tastes better with lamb than squirrel. The chocolate cake looks a bit plain, but the inside is still tender, and what a chocolate! On my side, I can see that Katniss is filling herself with food as if it were her last meal. I had no idea a girl could eat that much! In the end, she even eats the last courses with her fingers, though I suspect she only does it to upset Effie who made a comment about our good table manners compared to last year tributes. To be honest, I probably ate far too much myself and I don’t feel too well right now, so starting a conversation is quite difficult.

I feel grateful at Effie’s idea of going to the lounge to watch the recap of the reapings. This time, I get to see the whole of our competition, and I wish I had something to take notes. District 1 and 2 stand well above the others, as usual. They are all volunteers and one can see how proud they are. The girl from 1 is very beautiful and charming, throwing kisses to the crowd, whereas the three others clearly look deadly. My instincts tell me to stay away from them. However, I'm quite reassured by the other tributes. Like in District 5, most of them do not look very strong, and there is a lot of young ones, in District 4, 11... Gosh, it'll be awful... There is this boy tribute from 11, a huge guy, whose silence almost looks threatening. And then it's us. Katniss makes a big impression on the screen, commentators are taken aback by her courage 'in a district where we sadly rarely see many good candidates' although they are surprised that the crowd salutes her instead of applauding and cheering. We clearly look like rednecks. And then comes Haymitch, and of course they relish in his fall, so I'm almost forgotten.

Now Effie really seems upset. One could think it is the prospect of sending all these kids to their deaths, but her only concern is for her wig and Haymitch's behavior.

"Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior." Honestly, is there anything in the world she cares about apart from appearances? I can't help laughing.

"He was drunk. He's drunk every year." I say

"Every year" echoes Katniss, and she makes a sort of half smile. I rarely saw her smile, so I'm happy I'm finally able to reach her. So we do have something in common, our feelings toward Haymitch and Effie… Effie who is clearly annoyed about us right now:

"Yes" she hisses menacingly. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch may well be the difference between your life and your death."

And as if on cue, Haymitch stumbles into the doorway.

"I miss supper?" he slurs and then vomits heavily and falls into the stinking content of his stomach.

"So laugh away!" Effie shrills and she tiptoes out of the room avoiding the pool of vomit.


	4. Chapter 4

The whole place is a complete mess. His guts were obviously mostly filled with alcohol, and it spread all over the floor, the expensive carpet and the lower part of the furniture. The stench is horrid. Katniss is completely taken aback, and when I glance at her, she looks slightly green, as if she’s about to be sick herself. We need to do something. Even though I have little sympathy for him, I can’t let him in such a misery. I think I actually quite pity him. What must his life be? He is so drunk all the time that days and nights must blur into an indistinct slumber. Surprisingly, Katniss caught my glance and helps me take one of his arms and lift him to his feet.  
“I tripped?” Haymitch asks. “Smells bad.” And he wipes his hand on his nose, only to spread vomit on his face. He’s probably only half-conscious and I doubt he can take care of himself.  
“Let’s get you back to your room” I suggest. “Clean you up a bit.”  
We half-lead half-carry him back to his compartment. He’s still quite strong and heavy, too much for Katniss anyway, and I briefly wonder what he looked like when he entered his Games. His room is the same as ours, only already messy. The bedspread is crumpled, pillows are on the floor as well as some of the chairs. I notice the empty bottle from the bar in a corner, slightly rolling back and forth with the train’s moves. There is little chance that Katniss will snitch on him anyway so I don’t try to hide it. He must have thrashed the furniture at some point of his drunkenness. But right now, what he needs is cleaning, so we drag him into the bathtub and turn the shower on. He’s still so numb he hardly notices. It’ll take more than this to bring him back to his senses.  
“It’s okay”, I tell Katniss. “I’ll take it from here.”  
I can tell she’s quite reluctant to help him any more than this. I’m struck by the contrast with her sister and her mother. My father once told me that her mother was the late apothecary’s daughter, which would explain her pale skin and blonde hair. She’s now a still beautiful middle-aged woman with a soft, yet very sad look. But she’s also known to be very compassionate. She helped many of the miners’ families with the remedies she brewed thanks to her knowledge, and Katniss’ sister and her tended the wounded and the ill for as long as it would take. This would upset my mother, who couldn’t understand how a merchant’s daughter could marry so badly and why she would care for these people. When she rambled on about it, my father would look a bit embarrassed and find the first opportunity to walk away from the conversation. I guess Katniss didn’t take much from her mother’s side, though I don’t think she’s as indifferent as she looks. It’s a bit like she doesn’t want to become too close to people. It’s been the same at school, at least since her father died, which was five years ago. She never was a very social person I guess, but after that, she became very solitary. She carried the grief of her father’s loss on her own and disappeared as soon as the bell had rung, but not before she’d picked up her sister.  
“All right. I can send one of the Capitol people to help you” she offers.  
“No. I don't want them.” It's true there are plenty of people in this train whose sole purpose seem to be to take care of us – at least until they will deliver us to the slaughter – but their ways are different from ours. I don't think Haymitch would appreciate their affected concerns, not to mention the treatments they would no doubt want to apply to him. Men in the Capitol look... well... not exactly like men in my opinion. Their skin looks as soft as babies’, and most of them wear makeup like no woman from our District would. Their hair is another wonder, as if they never had to shave and their eyebrows or any other facial hair they have is so well drawn it looks completely artificial. It all seems so silly to me. A man like my father looks far more respectable, I think. He's stout, with broad shoulders and a square face. His features show the years of hard work, the burns from the oven, the weight of the flour bags... He wouldn’t like the Capitol to change his looks so I guess Haymitch wouldn’t think any differently on that score. Katniss nods, as if she understands this, but then heads to her room. I sigh. It’s so difficult to make contact with her. I can tell we understand each other on some subjects – we are both from District 12 after all – but she keeps so much to herself… I wonder what kind of relationship she has with this Gale. Hunting together, they must spend a lot of time in the woods, all alone. I wonder if she talks or smiles to him a lot… Maybe more? I feel my cheeks heating up so I start undressing Haymitch under the shower, but my fingers are slightly fidgeting. Pulling his shirt over his head, he only grumbles but still seems oblivious to me. I never had a girlfriend, though I could have, more than once. I get along with some of the girls at school – town girls of course… Mofyn, the butcher’s daughter, was a bit pushy but I didn’t like her, maybe because my mother hinted that I should marry her someday. I flirted with Jarla, from the candy store, for a while, but couldn’t really decide to go any further, so she dumped me. However, I heard Gale's name being mentioned more than once. The general is was that he is a stunner, and that he can be 'charming' and often offers small gifts the girls adore him for. Apparently, many of them can testify he is a good kisser, but they won't say any more than that. But since he and Katniss have been hunting for years now, I have troubles thinking she would accept sharing him as a girlfriend with so many others. Or at least, it is comforting for me to think so. All these years I have been knowing Katniss Everdeen, I have never been able to talk to her until now. Never been able to really think of another girl even if I tried. Though I never told anyone about this, not even my best friends, for fear they would laugh at me.  
As I am removing Haymitch’s pants, he starts mumbling again. “Rosa...” Great, now he thinks I’m some girl taking care of him. Never heard of him being interested in anyone in the District. But it’s true there are some ‘creatures’ as my mother would put it, whose services he may be using. I’ve seen some of them sometimes. They are mostly middle-aged women from the Seam who look so poor and so hungry it is hard to think of anything else when you look at them.  
“Rosa, be careful, I think they're not happy with me” he goes on. And all of a sudden, he springs up but slips and falls heavily back in the bathtub. When he opens his eyes, he gives me a surprisingly sharp but defiant look. “Who are you?”  
“Peeta Mellark, sir. The male tribute from District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games” I answer in a Capitol emphatic style. It's only the second time today I have to introduce myself to him.  
“What are you doing here? What were you doing to me?” He's considering the room he's in, and the fact that he's soaking wet in his underwears.  
“You fell in your vomit in the lounge and Katniss and I helped you to your room to get cleaned up.” I answer. At this point, I don't think humor is going to help me so better get to the point. His gaze seems to become foggy again.  
“Right. You may go now” he tries to dismiss me, but when he tries to get up, he slips once more and knocks himself out. I press a button to change the water into a bubbling stream of foam. In no time, he looks cleaner than I’ve seen him today and I can switch the shower back to water. But his undershirt is very stained though I can’t tell if it is from vomit or something older so I decide to take it off as well. His torso is still very muscular, but the most surprising thing about it is the tattoo which covers it almost completely from neck to waist. In the middle is a swirling axe cutting into an intricate pattern of leafs, thorns and strange creatures. You can also see make out faces. Two middle-aged people and a young boy with a Seam look. Two girls about my age. And then further away from the axe, smaller but numerous young faces of boys and girls. Most of them emaciated faces. I gasp when I recognize the last two at the edge: Rils and the girl from last year. As my hands fall by my side, I count them: forty six boys and girls. And I remember my father’s words: Haymitch was reaped during the second Quarter Quell, the 50th Hunger Games, twenty four years ago. All these years, while everybody was making fun of his drinking habits, he got himself tattooed on his skin the faces of the fallen tributes from our District. The ones he couldn’t save. I guess the faces in the middle were his parents and little brother. Who were the two girls? Was one of them his fellow tribute he allied with? Or this ‘Rosa’ he was talking to earlier? Be careful, I think they're not happy with me. What happened?  
I have to get Haymitch out of the bathtub now. I turn the tap off and grab him under his shoulders. I’ve been moving flour bags for so long that I can lift him and carry him to the bedroom. But when he reaches the bed, he comes back to his senses and tries to wrestle away from me.  
“Let me go, you silly boy!”  
“All right, all right” I step back. “I was only trying to help.”  
“What for?” he barks and realizes he’s half naked. “Who told you to undress me?!” I can tell he’s furious that I have seen the tattoo but he doesn’t have anything to cover it now and it would be pointless anyway.  
“You passed out while I was trying to wash vomit you managed to spread all over yourself” I try not to lose my patience.  
“Why?” He squints at me. “Trying to make an impression, so that I help you over the girl?”  
“No…”  
“Won’t save you anyway” he cuts me off. “District 12 never stands a chance anyway, even if I could get you sponsors.”  
“I wasn’t trying to get any favors over Katniss…”  
“You know her? The nice little town boy and the Seam girl, well well, who would have thought?” His gaze is so sharp now that my cheeks start heating up again. I can’t stand this, not from him.  
“Forget it. I should have left you in your filth” I snap and turn heels. When I reach the corridor, I can hear him laugh so I slam the door and walk directly to my room. The curtains have been drawn for the night and the room is bathed in a subdued light. How am I going to get any help from him? I fall heavily on my bed but it is so incredibly soft I feel like I am bouncing on… Water? Yes, the noise is unmistakable. Somehow, these Capitol people have managed to make water beds! I turn round and contemplate the ceiling. Forget about winning Haymitch over, the situation’s bad. In about a week, Katniss and I will be thrown into a living hell carefully crafted by crazy Capitol minds with twenty-two other tributes. I know I could take on a few adversaries in close combat. But I’ve never fought with weapons. Maybe I can grab a few skills when we will be in the Training Center, the place they will take us to after making us parade throughout the Capitol. Which leaves the question of surviving skills. Many tributes who do not die in the bloodbath right on start are defeated by the lack of water, food or shelter. And I’ll be rotten at this. Unlike Katniss. She’ll be able to hunt and hide in the woods if there are any. Making allies I remember my father saying. If only I could get Katniss to trust me…  
At some point, rocked by the regular motion of the train and the slight moves of the waterbed, I doze off and the horrors of the Games are tamed by Katniss’ enchanting song.  
I wake up as usual for my daily chores, before dawn. But before I open my eyes, I can tell that something is wrong. I can’t hear the birds’ early singing and my body is slightly moving. The train, the reaping, the Games, it all comes back to me and I give a start. How could I forget? Well, at least, I’m rested. I draw the curtains and try to make out the landscape. It has changed a lot since yesterday. The green endless forest has been replaced by vast plains with more scattered trees and we are clearly heading towards mountains much higher than I’ve ever seen. The Capitol is nested in the Rockies, so we must be getting close. To avoid feeling nervous, I start a workout routine our sports teacher showed us at school. Better build some muscles before I’m thrown in the arena. When my T-shirt is sweating wet, I decide it is enough, take a quick shower and head for the dining room. Amid the heavily-loaded buffets stands Haymitch. Looking daggers. At me. This time, I let him start.  
“Right. I was expecting you” he starts in a low voice. “Don’t expect to play pussy with me. Never slam a door on my face again. You stay there until I’m done with you.” I nod “So you wanted to play nice and wash me last night, and you saw my tattoo. Few people have. But it’s no use trying to use it against me. The Capitol wants me alive, and as for people in the District… Well, I don’t expect you’ll ever see them again so you’re no threat.” I clench my fists at his words, but Effie enters the compartment.  
“Ah, Peeta! Early riser, very good! Do help yourself to anything you want, my boy!” she says in her usual high-pitched voice. And then, quite coldly “Good morning Haymitch. I hope you recovered from yesterday’s… illness…”  
“Illness? Is that how you want to call it?” he snorts. “I warn you, I’m going to be ‘ill’ quite often!” She squints at him and shrugs in a huff.  
“I’m going to wake up Katniss” she says and leaves us. As soon as she’s gone, Haymitch snaps:  
“Now tell me: is there anything between you and the girl?”  
“We’re together at school but she doesn’t know me.” I try to say in a clear voice.  
“But you know her. I’ve heard about her too, a couple of times. Seen her in the Hob too. Looks a bit different from the usual lassies we have.” I don’t know where this is leading, but his look has shifted from blurred to inquisitive.   
“Yeah, she’s different. She hunts and sells her game, that’s why you saw her at the Hob.”  
Haymitch is looking at me with squinted eyes, as a cat would do with its prey. There are thousand things that I would like to add. Like she’s proud, probably too much for her own good, so she won’t admit that she’s such a good hunter, or a dedicated sister.  
“Right. Well, she had enough guts to go under the fence, but honestly, who thought it was still electrified? And being able to set a couple of snares won’t be enough in the Hunger Games.” Haymitch shakes his hand as if the matter is concluded and turns heels to look at the windows.  
I’m still taken aback by what he said when Effie returns.  
“Well, I believe she will be ready in a few moments. Of course, a girl needs a bit of time in the morning to prepare. Maybe she won’t mind if we start without her. The schedule is so tight we probably won’t have time to eat for the rest of the day, and I really need a cup of coffee…”  
Still thinking about the fact Haymitch doesn’t believe us to stand a chance in the arena, I sit and order for eggs, ham and fried potatoes. One of the train attendants serves me immediately and adds a glass of orange juice. I try not to look too impressed by the food, and start to eat.  
“Haymitch, we have a lot to work on when we arrive in the Capitol” starts Effie. “After the meeting with Gamemaker Seneca Crane, I thought we could head directly to the Training Centre. We have to make sure that everything is ready. We could discuss our communication strategy for the Games…”  
“Communication strategy?” Haymitch snorts. “You know exactly what is going to happen, so do I, so why don’t you drop this babble and mind your own business!”  
Effie rises from her chair in outrage and leaves the car, just when Katniss enters. She’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes with the golden pin, so I guess Effie’s thought about Katniss taking time to dress in the morning has just proved wrong. But I can’t really smile given the circumstances, and I don’t know what to say. On the contrary, Haymitch seems amused by the scene he has just provoked, so he greets Katniss with a waving arm while chuckling at the same time.  
“Sit down! Sit down!” And as soon as she’s done so, the train attendant serves her the same dish as he did for me. But Katniss cannot really hide her surprise at the food. After considering the orange juice, I see her stare at the cup of hot chocolate. Has she ever tasted it? I remember how at school, we almost never mixed up with the Seam kids at lunch, how we carefully opened our lunchboxes while some of them were trying to sneak a peak. Some waited for us to finish and checked what we threw in the dustbin. I checked to see if Katniss always had something to eat. Especially after that evening in our backyard.  
“They call it hot chocolate” I try to say as nicely as possible. “It’s good.”  
She takes a brief look at me and her grey eyes today seem like a troubled lake on a rainy day. Less defiant, more fragile. She obviously decides she can trust me on this, because she starts taking a little sip of it, and then finishes the whole cup. Then she goes back to gobbling as much food as she can, the way she did it yesterday. She’d probably become fat in no time in the Capitol, as some of the people we sometimes see on TV. I prefer to take it more slowly this time to avoid being sick. Effie told us about a big schedule today, so I’d rather feel sharp. In the meantime, Haymitch, who hasn’t eaten a thing from his dish, keeps on drinking a strange mix of red juice and liquor he brought in a bottle under his vest. He was looking at both of us for some time, but now he’s more and more focused on his glass.  
“So, you’re supposed to give us advice” Katniss suddenly says. She’s stopped eating and is now looking at Haymitch. I put down my roll and wait for his answer. Is he going to tell her to get off as well?  
“Here’s some advice. Stay alive” he answers, and then starts laughing in his cold and cruel way. Katniss instantly turns to me. Her look, a mix of surprise, hardness but also pain upsets me. He won’t get away with it. Not this time.  
“That’s very funny” I hear myself saying and then I take a swing at his glass. “Only not to us.”  
Haymitch stares at the stain of wine, sparkling with crystal shards against the floor, then turns back to me and punch me in the face. As I thought, he’s still quite strong and the blow makes me fall from my chair. He probably thinks he taught me a lesson and reaches for his bottle again, but Katniss almost catches his hand by sticking her knife into the table. Even an old dog like him has to give a start. But although he could hit her for what she did, he doesn’t. Instead, he sits back and squints at us.  
“Well, what’s this?” he says. “Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?”  
I get back on my feet to reach for the ice under the fruit tureen. My jaw will be swollen for a couple of days now.  
“No,” says Haymitch. “Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena.”  
“That’s against the rules” I reply.  
“Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better,” says Haymitch before turning to Katniss. “Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?”  
Her jaw clenches and she firmly tugs the knife out of the table before jolting it across the room into the seam between two wooden panels. Wow. That was impressive. She truly looks deadly.  
“Stand over here. Both of you” orders Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We do as he says and he starts evaluating our muscles and faces as if we were some sort of cattle. “Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.”  
I think for a moment that Katniss is about to slap him, but she doesn’t react. In fact, for once, I think she’s actually listening to someone. I’m waiting for further instructions, now he’s come to act like a mentor.  
“All right, I’ll male a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you,” he says. “But you have to do exactly what I say.”  
“Fine.” I answer.  
“So help us,” Katniss blurts out. “When we get to the arena, what’s the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone –”  
“One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station. You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don’t resist” Haymitch says.  
“But –” she tries again.  
“No buts. Don’t resist,” he retorts and then grabs the bottle of liquor and leaves the car. Just as he does, we are suddenly plunged into darkness. Apart from a few lights inside, we are now travelling faster in tunnels, which means we are getting very close. I realize I’m not ready for it, for standing in front of cameras showing my strength and wits to potential mentors, facing the other tributes in the Training Centre, and of course, for the arena itself, which will be my whole world in just a few days. Katniss stands very still as well, which helps me not to panic. After what seems like an eternity, we are blinded by a bright light as the train emerges from the mountains to enter a vast valley. Across the shimmering waters of a lake, there it stands. The Capitol. Katniss and I run to the window to witness the high-rise buildings of all shapes, glistening with wonderful colors, streets and bridges flooded with shiny cars and strangely dressed people. I can’t help thinking about the cakes I love to decorate. It seems they have been able to match the whole city with the shades I use for them, translucent green, candied cherries, lemon curd… It takes me away completely. How wonderful it is that we have been able to build something as beautiful as this? The train moves into the city, slowing down on a bridge which crosses over streets and between high buildings. As we move closer to the ground, people become aware of our presence and start gathering feverishly in the hope of seeing us. When some of them do, their excitement rises and they jump and wave at us. Katniss gives a jump backwards but they are so funny I can’t help smiling and waving back at a group of kids, which only adds to their frenzy. It’s so exhilarating somehow, all these rich and crazy people paying attention to someone like me. Maybe all hope is not lost. Maybe, despite all odds, one of them will be willing to help me. Maybe they will care about me and not want me die…


End file.
